Born into a typical family. Father was an abusive, porn-watching ass. Mother was a hard-working woman; cheerful. Father got angry, broke her legs. Mother got over it. Father got angry again, trashed the house and cut up all her underwear. Mother got over it.
I was a relatively happy child. I got sick a lot. I still do. I stress my mom a lot. She asks: "Why don't you call your fucking father and tell him you're sick?"
Because I'm scared.
I'm 14, emetophobic (IRRATIONAL fear of vomiting that literally devours me alive, each and every day), depressed, terrible self-image. Father is a hard man to talk to. He is a control-er. A dominate-r. He MUST be right. Arrogant and cynical. Like an elephant, he will not forget. He will mock you, spit in your face, throw water in your face, kick your tail-bone, curse your very name, and then, when his anger subsides, he will be "nice". He fucks with you.
Mother called me fat. Pig. Lazy. Bitch. Whore. Fat, again. I WAS. 135 at 5'4. Went anorexic, sunk into a deep depression and anger with my body. It became an obsession. It still is: 111 at 5'4. Up and down, up and down ... goes the scale.
I still suffer. OCD, too. Thoughts, I need marijuana. I need to run away.
Mother punched me multiple times. I have bruises. Mother whipped me with a stick she picked off the ground during our daily nature walks. I have a scar on my inner right arm.
Friends? Well, they fuck around. They're not friends. They're vain. Stupid. "Stupid, stupid, blah, ahurr, blah..." is what they speak. Living in fantasy. I live in reality.
Life is the same ol' story. The same ol' cycle. You're happy, you're sad, you're happy again. Fucking with your emotions. Mindfuckery.
I get good grades. Worthless letters.
I once believed in God. No longer, so.